


Strange bedfellows

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: A Demon and a Con-man [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 13:32:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3136256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months following the portal incident, Stanley is a mess, and this gets boring, fast, so Bill decides to help him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange bedfellows

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I’m just gonna put it out there: Bill turns into an elrich abomination at one point and there’s sex. He’s not human at any point in this story.

Bill hears the voice first, just beyond the town bar. He knows it, but it takes him a moment to identify the owner.

"You call that a punch?" it snarls, a thunderclap among the hushed dialogue of fellow patrons. "That ain’t even gonna bruise!"

The sentence is punctuated by the snap of a fist connecting with skin and a clearly inebriated Stanley Pines stumbles out through the doors, nose streaming with blood. Bill remains an observer, manifesting as a shadow above the veranda light. From there he can see Stanley’s face. He’s sickly white, bags under his eyes as thick as kohl, and chin rough with stubble. 

A vastly larger man, a lumberjack of some sort, follows him out onto the veranda with bloody knuckles raised in warning. “Go home, Stanford. Yer making a scene.”

Stanley sniffles. Without a word of protest, he staggers home.

Later that evening, he watches Stanley tear through his basement with nothing but his fists and his anger. Books go flying, beakers smash, metal snaps, furniture is flung and blood is drawn when he slams a fist into a wall hard enough to send the plaster arching under the impact. That is when he collapses, hands curled tight in his disheveled hair as his body rocks with the force of his own sobs.

* * *

Stanley returns to the bar the next evening. Bill knows this because Bill has decided to trail Stanley to see where this mental deterioration leads the man; the human psyche is always most captivating when in the process of deconstruction. He expects to find Stanley picking fights with other patrons, perhaps with someone more his match. He doesn’t. Rather, he finds Stan sitting with his cheek to the tacky bar for hours at a time, neither asleep nor aware enough of his surroundings to be considered awake.

Bill might have thought this amusing were it not grievously boring. He coaxes Stan into a slumber and slips into his dreams, and this is where Stanley has enough lucidity to sit up, wipe a wet line off the side of his mouth, blink rabidly at Bill, and point an accusatory finger at the demon.

"Whatcha doin’ in here, y'triangular freak? Though I told you to stay out." The slurring makes his voice almost incomprehensible and this, Bill does laugh at.

"You’re looking a little down, Stan! And when you’re _down_ , you’re _down_ right boring!” Bill circles Stanley’s head, just so he can watch the man try and fail to track him. “So I thought I would offer my help!”

Stanley sighs hard and resumes lying with his cheek pressed to the bar. “Even if I wanted your help — which I don’t; does anyone actually willingly accept it? N’yway, if I… even if I wanted your help, there’s shit all you can do.”

"Now that sounds like a challenge! Just try me, Stan. We have time. Ten point six minutes, in fact!" exclaims Bill.

"Y’wouldn’t understand." Stan’s eyes are shiny with unshed tears. It almost makes Bill want to pluck them out of his skull. But that, he knows, would send Stanley screeching back into the waking world. "It’s a human thing."

 ”You would be surprised by how many ‘human things’ I’m able to comprehend! It’s not like you’re _that_ complex an animal.”

"My brother’s gone."

Bill's already aware. He's impassive.

There is a limit to his comprehension of humans, and Stanley has just found it. In lieu of a mouth, he squints his eye to suggest a pursing of lips.

"Well, if you’re telling me, you must think I can do something for you, right? So out with it."

Stanley curls in on himself. Protecting the last vestiges of his self control, perhaps.

"I dunno. I dunno. He’d be pissed if he knew I was considering it." It’s a mumble to himself more so than to Bill, but Bill replies regardless.

"Don’t put words into a dead man’s mouth, Stan! Go by gut instinct! Gut instinct is always dependable!"

"Dead-? He's not _dead_. You’d say anything to get me to make a deal with you, wouldn’t ya?" This doesn’t stop him from continuing, however, "I want to know if you can bring him back."

"As in, pluck him out of the portal?" questions Bill.

"Yeah, brought back here," he confirms, and sends Bill a warning narrowing of his eyes. "No dream Stanford. I’ll know he’s an illusion."

"In that case, I can’t bring him back. That sort of work is _not_ my domain! I can create you a dream duplicate for a price, but that’s the closest you’re going to get. Disclaimer: even I don’t recommend asking for the duplicate.”

"Fine. Then what’s something you _can_ do for me that doesn’t have a price or disclaimer? Because the journal didn't exactly give a lot of hints.”

Bill drops down to hover beside Stan’s wrist. He leans in, setting the end of his cane beneath Stanley’s chin so they’re eye to eye. “I can think of… something.” The suggestion is clear in the way the tip of his cane trails down over Stanley’s adams apple and to his clavicle, teasing at the collar of his shirt.

Stanley inhales sharply, and it’s a lovely sound. “…You think… with _you_? You think that would _help_?”

"What do you think?"

Stanley is silent. His fingers speak for him, dancing briefly on the end of the cane before withdrawing: it isn’t a no. But then, quite suddenly, he stands to leave.

Bill doesn’t stop him, nor does he follow.

* * *

Bill strays from Gravity Falls for a couple of days, less than a week. When he returns, he returns to Stanley in the exact same state of mourning. The only divergence from his schedule of twenty four hour drinking are his visits to the outskirts a nearby forest to violently hurl an axe at trees. There’s little to no firewood in his arms when he returns to the shack, and his skin is red with sunburn. As the days pass, that begins to brown.

He spends longer hours in his home now, drinking alone. The bar patrons talk among themselves about him; Bill learns of another fight and warnings issued. He returns to the shack shortly after and watches Stanley from the ceiling. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair a mess and sticking to his sweaty forehead, and his chin fuzz is thicker than ever. He’s _delectable_ , Bill thinks.

When he slips into Stanley’s mind, the first thing he hears is, “Go away!”

"And leave you to cry in your own squalor?" asks Bill as he sidles up to Stanley. His cane is absent, this time. He needs his hands free. "Funny as that would be, I’m still waiting to hear an answer!"

"It wasn’t implied?"

"Be a little more _explicit_.”

Stanley peers at him; he peers back. “You know what? Fine,” he concedes at last. He stands, knocking a glass of whiskey askew, and stomps his way up the stairs and presumably into the bedroom. Startled, it takes Bill a moment to follow suit.

He has no humanoid form to speak of. Sex, for a dream demon, has less to do with the melding of bodies and more to do with the melding of minds. Truth be told, he isn’t even sure the projection of a human body can tolerate the intensity of demonic copulation without being shunted back into the waking world.

Still, if there was anyone able to lay with a demon and take it all in stride, it was Stanley Pines. He wouldn’t have asked otherwise.

"How do we do this?" Stanley is unbuckling his belt as he asks this, shimmying out of his trousers. A ripple of desire has Bill flashing from yellow to white and then back again.

"That depends entirely on what you want me to do, Stan." A thick, black tendril of ooze rises up from Bill’s body and worms its way beneath Stanley’s boxers, pushing them aside to grasp his crotch.

Bill isn’t there anymore, not in any form Stanley would recognize. He’s a great beast, a massive, black thing with skin perpetually rippling and two distensible limbs spreading from what could vaguely be recognized as a torso. His fingers are long and skeletal, clawed, oily in appearance. From a massive maw located at the approximate area of his stomach, long twisting tentacles stretch out towards Stanley.

"Oh God," is what he utters when he takes in this form. It was about what Bill had expected.

"Second thoughts?"

"No," breathes Stanley. He follows this with a shake of his head, as if reassuring himself of this answer. "Whatever it is you do, just— do it. Fuck me until I’m numb."

'Fuck' isn't the word Bill would use for what he's about to do, but he's happy to oblige. Pants are discarded and underwear is removed with an impatient _riiiiip_ of tearing fabric. Stanley glares at him. He pays it no mind, throwing the underwear aside so he can move on to the exponentially more important task of rolling Stanley onto his stomach and hooking a long, skeletal arm around his jutting hips so he can send a slick tendril sliding in. If it’s instantaneous euphoria for him, he doesn’t know what it must be like for Stanley. He hears a scream, “Oh god, Jesus fucking Christ!” and he’s given a vague idea.

Humans are so wonderfully hot and tight and the way Stanley grasps the headboard just so he can shove back and draw more of Bill into himself is enough to make even him wither and moan. He claws his fingers into those milky white thighs to pull Stanley back, drawing blood.

“ _Bill_ ,” Stanley whimpers when one of his smaller, thinner appendages wraps around his cock in much the same way fingers would and begins to languidly stroke. It’s not traditional for demons, but he wants to make this as pleasurable for Stanley as possible. Their bodies move in tandem with one another, thrusting and grinding.

Stanley comes with a shriek, sobbing and swearing, pushing back for just a little bit more, a little bit more—! Bill only gets in another thrust or two before he’s snarling and roaring and shivering through the onslaught of his own climax.   

Every inch of them is tingling after and his mind feels as if it’s filled with cotton wool. He doesn’t have the energy to return to his triangular form so he collapses to the mattress beside Stanley as massive black beast, curling in around him like a feline, sticky black tentacles wrapping loosely around his hips and thighs to provide him some security.

With no ability to slumber, Bill listens to Stanley breathe until he wakes.

* * *

His efforts seem to have done something to compose Stanley, because when next he sees the man he’s curled up on the couch eating dry cereal and watching a steadily buzzing television. Nothing like a little demonic intervention to brighten ones spirits.

He isn’t surprise that it’s Stanley who initiates the contact this time, “Bill, you got a moment? Bill? Take me into the dreamscape. I wanna talk.”

He does. Gently, Stanley's body slumps forward, unconscious.

"So, what’s the news, Stanley?"

Stan’s hands stammer on the length of a fishing rod. They’re in the middle of a lake, surrounded by murky green waters.

"The… the news…" It takes Stanley a moment to orientate himself, blinking rapidly. His movements are unconscious when he reaches into the lake to retrieve the lure, catching it before it can descend any further beneath the surface of the water. He brings it up to his face; it’s a little gold pyramid with spider legs curling out from the top. "…That’s right, I asked you to bring me here." He sets the lure and rod down next to a bucket of bait. "I wanted to talk to you."

"That’s right! Here’s a fish:" A withering, gasping tuna throws its glutinous form into the boat, startling Stanley. "Now out with it, Stan! I haven’t got all day. Deals to do, lives to ruin, all that jazz."

The fish gapes six more times, and dies. Stanley nudges it aside. “The thing we did. Uh… you know…” He scratches his chin. The fuzz is thinner now. “I was wondering if it’s going to be a regular occurrence?”

Bill blinks once, fast. This isn’t at all what he had expected.  In fact, he had thought Stan here to _end_ their ‘relations’. “I didn’t take you for the committing type.”

"Hey, I’m capable of settling down. I just don’t wanna do it right now." There’s visible frustration in the way Stan looks at Bill. "Doesn’t mean I don’t occasionally _need_ company.”

“What _kind_ of company…?”

"It doesn’t have to be that kind, but I’m beginning to think you’ll just drive me nuts if I spend too much time with you."

He wouldn’t have been the first to be driven to some degree of insanity by Bill’s presence. He had made a conscious effort in those cases, however. “Hey, if I wanted you insane, trust me Stanley—” He comes up beside the man, so close a startled breath disperses along the surface of his body. “You would be insane.”

Rather than unnerved, Stan just looks exasperated. “Are you gonna get around to answering my question anytime soon, or should I just try to enjoy this fishing trip you have me on?”

Bill makes a thoughtful sound. “…Don’t misinterpret this as that romantic drabble you humans so love, but do you _really_ want to be involved with a demon? Think of all those nasty little implications! You’re blasphemous! Fraternizing with a creature of the devil! And so on, so forth.”

"Uh huh. Yeah." Stanley doesn’t look impressed. "Bit too late to tell me that now, isn’t it? We already fucked."

"You make a good point."

"Well…?"

"Well what?"

Stanley glares. “You’re being a pain in the ass, and not the good kind,” An exhale whistles past clenched teeth. He drops his face into his hands and continues in a muffled murmur, “I can’t believe I’m saying this… but goddamn it all, I really need someone like you in my life right now. I don’t have anyone else, and I don’t want anyone else, either.” Except his brother, but that went without saying. “So I’d _really_ appreciate it if you gave me a straight answer.”

"Mmm." There’s no real hesitation in Bill’s response. He’s already swooping down to seat himself on Stanley’s thighs before he replies, "Sure, why not. Works for me!"

Stanley winds his arms around Bill, and it’s all he needs.


End file.
